The Undercover Job
by InkHeart4112
Summary: The mission was simple: Pretend to be civilians & protect the Abrams family. Then the CIA decided to add more operatives. Boys. Highly trained boys. Boys who just might be better... Play nice & try not to kill each other. Not too hard, right? Well, throw in falling for one of those boys - an arrogant, enigmatic, infamous spy. Now it's tricky. [Previously titled Rust and Stardust.]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Wow, alright, I'm nervous. Hi, there! So, this is my first Gallagher Girls story. It kind of feels like I'm attending a new school halfway through the semester, so believe me, I'm shaking. I hope you enjoy!

**[Cammie]**

"State your name, please."

"Cameron Ann Morgan."

"Codename?"

"Chameleon."

"And how long have you been undercover?"

"Eleven months."

* * *

The room's warm. No, scratch that. Beyond warm. It feels like the sun is hovering just above my head. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but seriously, it's hot in here.

I remain still in my chair, ankles crossed and hands resting on my plaid skirt. 9.4 feet in front of the wooden table before me (believe me, I counted as I waited) stands a high structure similar to an outstretched judge's bench. Professor Smith sits in the center, scribbling down my responses. To his left: Joe Solomon, a.k.a. the dreamiest teacher to ever step foot in the school. Two more of my educators and Dr. Steve make up the rest of the panel, as well as the rest of the team. My eyes briefly flicker towards the unknown figure at the end, wearing sunglasses and a dark sweatshirt with BI written on it. A faint scar runs along the side of his neck, and his hair shows no gleam from an excessive use of hair gel, although it's tousled in all the right places.

"Miss Morgan, please describe the mission you were given on July 28, 2013."

_Miss Morgan. Once._

I process the answer in my mind first, and then reply, "Rebecca Baxter, Elizabeth Sutton, Macey McHenry, and I were assigned the mission of protecting the Abrams family from any harm. Information regarding why was withheld and labeled as classified."

"What were your covers?"

The four files I've memorized by heart cross my mind, but I ignore them, instead correcting him, "Are."

His eyebrows shoot up before he questions, "Excuse me?"

"You asked me what our covers _were_, as if it were past tense. This mission is still ongoing, therefore you should be asking me what our covers _are_."

Either the heat's getting to my head, or I just saw Mystery Boy smirk.

Smith lets out a small sigh, and I can see the annoyance in his eyes. "What _are_ your covers?"

Satisfied, I answer, "We're students from the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women who were given the opportunity to temporarily live off campus and attend Roseville High. We report back to Gallagher two times every month about the environmental and cultural differences. The school pays for our house bills and gives us money for food and other vital necessities."

"And your allies?"

"Agent Solomon poses as a regular teacher from Gallagher. He drops by every two weeks to check up on us, which is when we update him about the mission. Every other agent involved contacts us through disposable phones and cryptic emails."

The older man nods while Dr. Fibbs and Mr. Solomon take notes. "How do you go about looking after the Abrams family?"

"Operative McHenry works in the bookstore across the street from the Abrams and Son Pharmacy. The windows give her a clear view of the building. Every Saturday morning, Operative Baxter attends the same gym as Mrs. Abrams, and the two occasionally chat while exercising. Operative Sutton strolls around with her camera at the beginning of each month. Civilians believe she's just taking pictures for our report back to Gallagher, but really, she's keeping surveillance. There's not a face in town she hasn't seen and investigated. I-"

_I'm kind of head-over-heels for Joshua Abrams, so believe me, I'm keeping tabs on him._

Noticing my abrupt stop, every adult slightly leans forward. I shake my head and go on, "I work at the café where Joshua Abrams and his friends hang out, as well as babysit Joy Abrams whenever needed. We've set up several security cameras around the town and our laptop has access to every computer plugged in. Any suspicious activity is monitored by us."

After a few scribbles, he puts his pen down and looks me dead in the eyes. "Miss Morgan, do you know why you and your friends were assigned this mission?"

_Miss Morgan. Twice. _

With a nod, I respond, "We're the top of our classes, most likely even the top of our grade. We were recommended by our teachers and approved by Headmistress Morgan."

"You do remember that the CIA was hesitant about sending four teenage girls into something like this, yes? It was your achievements at Gallagher that slowly changed their minds."

"Yes, sir."

"So," he starts. Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, Smith continues, "You can imagine how shocked we were when we learned of the _incident_ that took place on May 29, 2014, involving one of our best students."

_Here we go._

I bite my bottom lip, preparing for the real part of the interrogation to begin. Smith opens his mouth, but Mr. Solomon jumps in, "Miss Morgan, what was going through your mind at the time?"

_Miss Morgan. Three times._

Making sure to keep the shakiness out of my words, I state, "I saw danger, and I prevented it."

"Do you know the name of the victim?"

_Victim?!_ I tightly clutch a piece of my skirt to keep myself from yelling. "No. My mother said it's for the best that I remain unaware. If I knew his name, I'd get connected, and if I got connected, I'd feel remorse."

"And do you?"

My eyebrows rise as I blurt out, "Am I supposed to feel remorse for the guy who almost slit my throat?"

The large room stays quiet for exactly twenty-nine seconds. Dr. Smith lifts his elbows onto the bench, stacking his right arm on top of his left.

"Many officials, on this panel included, believe that your mental state rules you incompetent for the remainder of this mission."

"Yeah, well, they're wrong."

Feeling my fists clenching, I take in and let out a breath, composing myself. Not even bothering to control the raising of my voice, I reply, "I'm a spy-in-training. I know the risks to this business, and I accept them. This is a real mission, not some CoveOps test. We've been protecting this family for nearly a year. I'm not letting you pull me or my friends out just because _I did my job_."

Straightening up, Dr. Smith commands, "Calm yourself, Miss Morgan."

_Four times._

In a sharp tone, I snap, "This is calm, and it's _Operative_."

The five narrow-eyed adults stare at me, as if I were a new discovery in a lab. Not the boy at the end, though. His smirk widens into an amused grin.

* * *

After eleven hallways, four staircases, and an elevator, I finally reach the main floor of our headquarters, which is disguised as a rundown gas station. Liz is the first to spot me. She hops off the orange couch and rushes over, Bex at her heels. Macey steps away from the vending machine, granola bar in hand, and walks toward us.

Her thick accent lacing her voice, my British best friend asks, "How did it go?"

With a shrug, I tell her, "Well, it was hot."

Bex lets out a sigh of relief, mumbling, "Wow, I thought it was just me, since I was the first one in there."

Liz shook her head, saying, "I think the AC was intentionally turned off. See, glucose is our body's energy, and we use it for thinking. We'd need glucose to come up with answers to their questions. If the room's temperature were too hot, we'd use more energy to cool down versus if it were too cold and we were trying to heat up, giving us less glucose for our minds. They probably did this so we wouldn't completely think about our answers and maybe let something slip. It's kind of genius, actually, that-"

Noticing our stares, the small girl stops and begins to fiddle with her hands. I shake my head and go on, "They started talking about how what happened affected my mental state, how I'm unfit to continue the mission."

Macey's perfectly plucked eyebrows rise. "They think you're crazy?"

"Basically, yeah. I made it clear, though, that none of us are being replaced."

The girls nod, their own thoughts beginning to run through their brains. In a quiet voice, Liz questions, "Did they mention Josh?"

Bex and Macey snap their heads toward me, suddenly curious. I sigh before replying, "Not specifically."

Macey crosses her arms over her chest, saying, "That's good, right? They'd definitely pull you off if they knew how you felt."

I nod and look around, although any eavesdropper would've had several twists and turns before they reached this destination, and we definitely would've heard. Turning back to my friends, I mutter, "Who do you think that guy at the end was?"

Liz furrows her eyebrows, confusion in her eyes. "What guy?"

"The one by Dr. Steve, with the sunglasses and the scar on his neck. He wasn't there for any of your interrogations?"

Bex, tilting her head to the side, suggests, "Maybe they brought him in just for you."

"Was he hot?" Oh, the reasons to love Macey McHenry.

I chuckle and state, "I barely saw his face."

"You saw a scar and shades. That's enough to classify him as attractive or not."

I roll my eyes and, dodging the continuance of that conversation, say, "We should head back."

* * *

"_Yeah, Liz is fine; she just ran into a tree. The bruise on her forehead is healing up."_

_On the other end of the line, Mom responds, "I'm feeling grateful that she can work her way through a lab. If that girl were an agent in the field, we'd constantly have to worry about her injuring herself with her own weapon."_

_I laugh and lean against the island in the kitchen. "Every spy needs their own personal genius. We're lucky enough to have the best."_

_After updating her about the mission, my mom sighs and asks, "How's it going over there, kiddo?"_

"_It's alright. I just finished a pretty heavy shift, though. If I have to make one more cup of coffee…"_

_Noticing my voice trailing off, Mom chuckles and replies, "Well, if there's anyone who can inhale the scent of caffeine for hours while still managing to stay sane and alert, it's you. Now, tell me why you're all alone on a Thursday night at 9:16 PM."_

_I look over to the security camera in the corner above the fridge and crack a small smirk. "Macey's working an extra shift at the bookstore because the school funding doesn't cover the excessive amount of ice cream that we desperately need."_

_I can feel the older woman grinning, making my smile widen as I continue, "Bex is keeping her company, and Liz is renting out some movies for tomorrow night."_

"_Ah, yes. You four are celebrating the last day of Roseville High with way too much junk food and way too many action films."_

"_Including but not limited to Nicholas Sparks, as well."_

_Mom lets out a few smooth laughs before saying, "Alright, kiddo, I have to finish up this paperwork. I'll call you soon, okay? I love you."_

_Waving at the camera, I respond, "Love you, too, Mom."_

_With that, I pull the device away from my ear, hang up, and turn it off. Tossing it in the trash, I pull open a drawer full of disposable phones, supplied to us by Gallagher, of course. I randomly pick one, turn it on, and set it on the counter. After closing the drawer, I rub my hands together and walk over to the pantry._

_I swear, if Bex ate the last of my gummy bears-_

"_Mmmph!"_

_I wiggle and jump, but it's to no avail. A hand's clasped over my mouth, and an arm snakes around my stomach, tightly holding me back._

"Excuse me, sweetie, but the bus has arrived."

I shake the flashback out of my mind and harshly blink. In front of me stands an elderly woman, cane at her side. I politely smile and thank her before hopping off the bench and following the small crowd through the bus doors. Passengers begin to fill the seats against the walls of the vehicle. I sit down in the center, giving me a good view of everything. Once the bus begins to move, my hands find their way to the pocket of my green sweatshirt.

How many times the bus driver licked his hand and slicked back his hair: 8.

How many times the toddler in the back stuck his hand in his mouth: 5.

How many times the old woman clutched her purse and glanced at the biker sitting two feet away from her: 14.

And this was all in the span of four minutes. The bus halts at its next stop, and five more civilians enter. I look down and reach under my seat, immediately feeling the backpack that Macey purposely left when she was on this bus as a blonde in a sun dress, before she turned into a businesswoman taking twelve different taxis back to Roseville.

_The things we do to make sure we're not being tailed._

I move the backpack towards my feet, already knowing that shoved inside are my next disguises.

"Is this seat taken?"

Lifting my head, I'm met with the sight of a teenage boy in a denim jacket and a red baseball cap. I shrug and mumble, "Go ahead."

He plants himself to my right, taking his hands out of his pockets. I pay no attention to him, instead looking at the new passengers: A middle-aged female with grocery bags, a young boy holding a skateboard, an elderly male chatting with the old woman, and a man reading a newspaper. I suspiciously eye the man, who could _really_ use a haircut.

"Nice weather we're having, huh?"

A teasing smile tugs at my lips as I turn towards the figure beside me. "You've been staring at me for three minutes, and that's the best you can do?"

His lips form a smirk after he questions, "And how do you know that?"

"Contrary to what you believe, you weren't being very subtle."

He shakes his head while chuckling, "No, how did you know it's been three minutes? You're not wearing a watch."

Internally, a million thoughts run through my mind as I wonder how this one stranger could've noticed something nobody else ever has. Externally, I shrug and state, "Educated guess."

After a few seconds of silence pass, the boy lets out a breath and comments, "You fidget a lot."

I furrow my eyebrows, leading him to nudge his head towards my tapping heel, which made my whole right leg move. I immediately stop and turn to him with a small grin. "You know, you're really observant."

"Yeah, well, you're nice to observe."

Slightly leaning closer, he says, "This is when you're supposed to laugh and realize that we're both outsiders who nobody really understands. Then you get my name tattooed on your neck until it all goes terribly wrong, and you have to turn it into a snake biting your ear."

I can't help but let a chuckle slip out. The smirk on the teenage boy's face turns into a full grin as he mumbles, "Step one completed."

Just seconds later, the bus ceases. With a sigh, he stands up, saying, "This is my stop. I guess I'll see you around."

My eyebrows amusingly rise while I ask, "Are you sure about that?"

A small smile on his face, he nods. "I'm positive."

* * *

_WHAT OPERATIVE MORGAN HAD TO UNDERGO ON HER WAY BACK TO ROSEVILLE:_

_1\. Riding a bike to a thrift store and tossing it into an alley. NINE MINUTES_

_2\. Purchasing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt from the aforementioned thrift store and putting them on over a Gallagher uniform, which makes the operative extremely hot and sweaty. THREE MINUTES_

_3\. Switching between three buses. SEVENTEEN MINUTES_

_4\. Putting in extensions, slipping on black glasses, and changing into a floral dress, all in a very cramped gas station bathroom. FIVE MINUTES_

_5\. Switching between seven cabs (one which was "coincidentally" shared with Operative Baxter, disguised as a nurse, and another which was accompanied by an incredibly talkative driver). THIRTEEN MINUTES_

_6\. Taking out the extensions (which can be a very painful process), changing into Adidas shorts and a green sports bra, and leaving the backpack (now consisting of a Gallagher uniform, sweats, extensions, glasses, a dress, and heels) in a bathroom stall at a McDonalds for Operative Sutton to find. FOUR MINUTES_

I sigh at the list I made in my head and continue jogging. Seven more minutes and I'll be riding into Roseville in Macey's white Mercedes, which was left at a Wal-Mart just outside of town for this situation. An odd feeling looms over my head, causing me to slow down. As I run past a library, I turn my neck around. Some girls exit the building, but behind their chatting group, I catch a small glimpse of a flannel shirt. Flannel shirt… The same flannel shirt that I saw when a guy held the door for me as I walked out of McDonalds.

_I'm being tailed_.

Spotting a gap between two stores, I jog into the space. Not hearing or seeing anything behind me, I descend to a steady walk. After a few paces, I reach the end of the alley. As soon as I hop out, my eyes slightly widen.

Dressed in sunglasses and a flannel, a boy's leaning against the back wall of one of the buildings, standing less than a foot in front of me. As an instinct, I quickly aim my arm towards his face. Before my fist can come into contact with his nose, his right hand catches it, twisting my wrist around and pulling me closer. I use this as a chance to swing my leg up, my foot hitting his chest and knocking him to the ground. He grabs my ankle, pulling me down. I straddle his body, sitting down on his firm stomach, and push his arms to the ground.

To my surprise, he smirks. _Smirks! _"You know, I could get used to this position."

I roll my eyes and yell, "Why are you following me?"

Instead of answering the question, he chuckles and mutters, "Cammie the Chameleon. They say you're legendary."

I tighten my grip around his wrists. Looking straight into his eyes, though, makes me lose all focus, and if he wanted to, he could've easily thrown me off. _Green eyes_. Like the boy from the bus. Like the talkative taxi driver. Those two wore hats, but the tousled hair beneath me seems familiar. My eyes widen as I reach my right hand towards his neck and semi-harshly stroke it. Foundation rubs off on my fingers, revealing a scar.

_A faint scar runs along the side of his neck, and his hair shows no gleam from an excessive use of hair gel, although it's tousled in all the right places._

Noticing that I've caught on, his smirk only widens. "Zach Goode. I'm your new teammate."

He lifts his head up and brings his mouth close to my ear, then whispers, "Don't worry, you don't have to get my name tattooed on your neck just yet."

**Wow, this was fairly long. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! **

**What do you think Cammie did (beginning of the chapter)? What happened to her in that flashback? Does it have anything to do with her budding feelings for Josh, the boy she's been protecting for months? How will the new Zach Goode play into this? I'd love to hear your theories, as well as regular comments, so please be sure to drop a review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you to the absolutely great people who reviewed! Y'all made me feel a little less nervous about being new in this archive. I saw some theories about what happened, so I guess we'll just have to see!

**IMPORTANT: **In this chapter, it's mentioned that Macey came to Gallagher at the beginning of her freshman year. I realize that differs from the actual book series, where she arrives during sophomore year, but I had to tweak it a bit. If I stuck to that fact, she wouldn't be undercover in Roseville. Let me give you a background to this story/the mission…

**BACKGROUND INFO: **The CIA has been keeping an eye on the Abrams family since late 2012 (during freshman year). In early 2013, considering they had the fewest eyes on Josh, they decided that they needed younger agents, so they'd be able to watch him all day at school, at parties, etc. They told Gallagher, although they were a bit hesitant about sending in teenage girls. Cammie, Bex, Liz, and Macey were nominated by their teachers and approved by Headmistress Morgan to be the chosen operatives. They were informed about the mission (still in early 2013) and, since they'd be missing the following school year at the academy, had to attend sophomore classes after school, on the weekends, and during summer. Basically, by the second semester, they were taking both freshman and sophomore lessons. They were also put through extensive training during summer to prepare for the mission.

On July 28, 2013, the girls were officially sent into Roseville. For the first six months, a few CIA agents remained in town. After realizing that the four are well-trained, they left for other important missions, leaving just the girls on the Abrams' protective detail. **It is now the summer after their sophomore year. **The main agents that handle the mission: Mrs. Morgan, Mr. Solomon, Madame Dabney, Dr. Smith, Dr. Fibbs, and Dr. Steve (although he isn't a teacher at Gallagher). **If your understanding is still fuzzy, please drop a question in the review box or PM me.**

If you don't remember the roles that the girls play in Roseville in order to protect the Abrams family, I suggest going back to the first chapter and skimming through Cammie's interrogation. Okay, I'm done babbling. Hope you enjoy! (:

**[Cammie]**

"We don't need help, and we certainly don't need a babysitter."

Stepping into the immense room, Zach replies, "Tell that to the CIA. These aren't the circumstances I preferred we met in either, okay?"

I scoff and respond, "Yeah? Did your ideal setting involve tying me up and holding a gun to my heart?"

Looking around the shabby space, he says, "Believe me, beautiful. If I've got you tied up, a weapon won't be the thing next to your chest."

_Oh my goodness._

I roll my eyes and slam the wooden door beside me shut. The teenage boy remains unfazed, instead joking, "Is this the part where you pull lipstick that doubles as a knife out of your shoe?"

"Do I look like Kim Possible to you?"

While I move towards the center, he chuckles and saunters over to the side opposite of the entrance, then leans against the wall. "Alright, Gallagher Girl. What now?"

With raised eyebrows, I question, "What did you call me?"

He shrugs and repeats, "Gallagher Girl."

After crossing his arms, he explains, "When they were briefing me about you, they didn't say much. They coughed up one word: Gallagher. That was enough to _almost_ impress me."

I ignore the minor insult, instead asking, "Who are 'they?'"

Zach smirks and shuts his mouth, making it clear that he doesn't intend on admitting anything else. I quietly groan and mutter about spies being jerks at times. Knocks on the door interrupt me. Seven knocks, the last two rushed together. Recognizing the distinctness that is only shared between four girls, I head over to the door and open it.

Macey stomps in, yelling, "Cameron Ann Morgan, there better be a good reason why I had to take four cabs and _run_ just to get to some stupid warehouse."

Looking down at her businesswoman disguise, I mumble, "I see you got my message."

Holding up her wrist, flashing an expensive Tiffany &amp; Co. bracelet, she hisses, "Kind of hard to miss it when this thing kept buzzing and beeping. I _so_ do not approve of Liz hijacking my jewelry."

Once she opens her mouth to go on with the rant, I interrupt, stating, "We have a problem."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, she snaps her head to the left and cocks an eyebrow up at the sight of the boy standing yards away. Turning back to me, she mumbles, "Oh my gosh, the day has arrived. You finally had enough of the loneliness, so you kidnapped your next boyfriend. "

To the side, Zach chuckles. I roll my eyes and, in a quiet voice, reply, "That's the guy who was at my interrogation. I caught him following me on my way back to Roseville. He said he's working with us now."

I glance over at the male, who has made himself comfortable, sitting on the floor with his forearms on his knees, hands hanging over his feet. Bringing my gaze back to Macey, she asks, "What do you know about him?"

I sigh and answer, "Not much. His name's Zach Goode, and he knows as much as I revealed in my answers."

The beauty before me looks over to the green-eyed boy. Bluntly, she comments, "He's too hot to be a spy."

She turns to me and goes on, "What if he's just playing us?"

"Well, that's why I brought in the best guy-reader I know."

Macey chuckles and says, "Let's get this show on the road."

She spins on the heels of her shoes and walks toward Zach. I follow, whispering, "Are Duchess and Bookworm in Roseville?"

Keeping her eyes trained forward, she nods. "Liz is on a bus back to the house; Bex is already there."

We reach the smirking figure in seconds. He eyes Macey, from her shiny black hair to her shiny black pumps. My eyes roll while I cross my arms. _Boys_.

He comments, "Nice diamond," nudging his chin towards her, referring to the stud on her nose. "Is it real?"

"Oh, honey, I don't do knockoffs."

Zach laughs and moves his stare to me. "Was this your plan, Gallagher Girl? To share me? Not that I mind or anything. I just thought we had a special connection all by ourselves."

I simply aim a glare at him. We'd get no answers if I kept playing his game. Macey slips off her blazer and sets it on the cold floor, then sits on it. She crosses her legs and rests her hands in her lap. A blank expression forms on her face as she sits three feet away from the mysterious boy.

"What do you know about me?"

Zach raises an eyebrow, but his smug grin stays present. He answers, "The daughter of James and Cynthia McHenry. Your father's the senator; your mom sells beauty products. You came to Gallagher at the beginning of your freshman year, and it took _a lot_ of extra lessons to catch up to everyone else. Codename is Peacock. You change your personality to fit the people you're with. It's been noted how convincing you can be."

She remains stoical, her face not insinuating anger, warmness, or even boredom. Complete blankness.

"What do you know about Cammie?"

Turning to me and dropping the amusement from his demeanor, Zach responds, "Cameron Morgan, daughter of CIA legends. Mother, Rachel Morgan, is the headmistress at the Gallagher Academy; father, Matthew Morgan, was declared MIA five years ago. Codename is Chameleon because of her skills as a pavement artist. She can blend into any crowd, and unless she wants to be seen, she won't be."

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I shift my weight onto my right foot, slightly bending my knee. Zach looks back at Macey and adds, "Rebecca Baxter, daughter of Abe and Grace Baxter, _two_ M16 agents. She prefers to go by Bex, and her codename is Duchess. Being from the UK, she's the first non-American Gallagher student. She's stealthy and coordinated, and her strength is a big advantage. An expertise of hers is lying. Her acting can con many. Then there's Elizabeth Sutton, daughter of civilians. Her parents are dentists in Alabama, and she has a younger sister named Ellie. Although she weighs less than one-hundred pounds and is _very_ clumsy, she's one of the smartest people alive. She has a photographic memory and can crack just about any code."

Something about his sentences… They're clear and descriptive yet vague at the same time. It's like he's reading from a script. Like he's studied these answers. Like he's studied us.

"Where'd you get all that information?"

And the smirk returns. "I've got my sources."

Something flashes through Macey's eyes, and I can tell she's just as annoyed as I am. She masks her irritation, though, and asks, "Who sent you?"

With his I-know-something-you-don't persona still present, he shrugs. I cross my arms and sternly demand, "Answer the question."

A chuckle leaves his mouth, and his eyebrows slightly furrow. "Is this a good cop/bad cop skit or something?"

The atmosphere turns silent, all of us just glaring at each other. Two against one. Two Gallagher girls against an arrogant guy who thinks he can fool us. Finally, after forty-seven seconds, Zach starts explaining, "The CIA doesn't think you four can handle protecting the Abrams family. They don't think you're... _capable_ anymore. Not after the incident on May 29th."

Noticing the uneasiness on my face, he says, "Don't worry. I don't have enough clearance to find out exactly what happened that day."

He sighs and continues, "They hired new operatives as replacements, but your mom convinced them to let you stay, said we could all work together instead of anyone being pulled out. That's why I was sitting in on your interrogation; I was trying to get a better understanding of you."

A thought hitting my head, I question, "Why was it just mine?"

"It wasn't; yours was just the only one I heard in person. Remember the water they set out on the table? There was a bug in the cup."

Shaking her head, Macey replies, "That's impossible. If you bugged the freaking water, we would've seen it."

"Not the water, McHenry. The bug was _in_ the cup. We were listening in the next room."

Immediately, my eyebrows shoot up. "We?"

And now the smirk widens. Zach laughs and teases, "You didn't think it was just a team of one, did you, Gallagher Girl?"

I roll my eyes and move on. "Where are the others?"

"Back at HQ. I'm supposed to head back there once all of you are back in Roseville… Look, more will be revealed later, okay? That's all I can say for now."

I see Macey narrow her eyes, questioning if he's telling the truth or not. After a while, she stands up and picks up her jacket. "Alright, I'll leave through the back. Talk about this at home, Cam?"

I nod and give her a small smile. As she walks out of the room, I turn back to Zach, who has his gaze focused on me. He gets up and struts over to the door, not uttering a word, but his smirk says enough. I follow behind while looking down at my running shoes. So deep in thought, I don't realize that I'm headed straight for a wall until large hands grab my shoulders and pull me back.

"Whoa, there, Gallagher Girl."

Instead of responding with a snarky remark, I stand in the doorway, turning around to face him, and abruptly ask, "Why was I the only one with a tail?"

I can tell he's a bit thrown off by the question, but just as quickly as it came, it goes. Smugly, he leans down and states, "I volunteered."

* * *

"Wow."

"Double wow. This is huge!"

Sipping her mug of coffee, Bex sits down next to Liz at the kitchen table. I nod in agreement while Macey, painting her toenails beside me, responds, "And totally insulting. I can't believe nobody told us earlier."

Across from the blue-eyed beauty, our favorite tech whiz continues to rapidly type away on her two laptops. One's for civilian-like uses, helping with our covers; the other's for... spy jobs. Both, however, are heavily protected with software she created. Noticing the fury written on her face, I question, "Are you okay, Liz?"

Without looking up from her personal computer, Liz answers, "No, I'm not okay. I'm looking everywhere, but I can't find him. So far, all I can conclude is that he doesn't have a criminal record and isn't in any CIA databases. The boy's not even on social media!"

Twisting on the cap of the glossy blue nail polish bottle, Macey pipes in, "Are we even sure that's his real name?"

Immediately, the blonde's eyes widen, panic soaring through them. Bex sets down her beverage and says, "Lizzie, calm down. You're the best hacker in the business. If there's anyone who can find him, it's you."

Slowing her hands down, the Southern belle takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Maybe… Maybe I can search for boys matching his appearance."

Using her hands for a dramatic effect, the British goddess in the room exclaims, "There you go!"

Macey turns her head to me, raising her perfect eyebrows. "Cam? You got the best look at him."

I begin picturing four separate images: Mystery Boy from the interrogation, the flirter on the bus, the talkative cab driver, and the spy in the alley. "5'8, short brown hair, dark green eyes, and a scar along the left side of his neck."

Liz moves her hands over to the classified laptop and lightly hits the letters on the keyboard. At twenty-six seconds, her fingers cease and her jaw drops.

"I-I found something."

"What is it?"

Bex, who has scooted her chair closer to the small genius, answers, "Hospital reports. They're from that medical facility in Langley."

Seeing Macey's confused expression, I state, "It's specifically for the care of CIA agents."

She nods, and Bex goes on, "Two years ago, fourteen year-old Zachary Goode was…"

A ghostly expression takes over her face. She shakes it off before continuing, "Someone slit his throat and stabbed him seven times. He was unconscious for a week, but they were able to revive him. Five months later, he was in and out of surgery after being shot in the leg."

_Ding dong!_

Liz flies a hand over to her personal laptop. With a few clicks, live video footage fills the screen. Right in the line of vision of our doorbell/security camera stands Roseville's boy-next-door. _Josh_. All eyes land on me, devious grins playing at my best friends' lips, despite the tense air that was just occupying the room.

I sigh and stand up, saying, "He couldn't have just waltzed into that hospital. An adult had to have brought him in."

Bex, looking back at the computer, raises her arm and sticks her thumb up, signaling that they're already on it. I let out a light chuckle and rub my right temple as I make my way through the living room and down the main hall.

After tucking my hair behind my ears, I open the red door and greet, "Hi."

Josh's face breaks into a grin, making the corners of my mouth rise. "Hey. Sorry for just showing up like this at night. I needed to talk to you, and since I was on my way home, I figured it'd be nicer if I saw you in person."

Sensing his nerves, I softly smile and reply, "It's no problem. What's up?"

"So… I'm sure you know that the twenty year anniversary of the dance studio is coming up, right?"

"Of course. Miss Patty reminds me every time she comes into the diner."

He laughs and runs a hand through his wavy hair. "Right, well… About the huge celebration… I was wondering if, um… Maybe you'd like to be my date?"

My eyebrows slightly pop up as I gape. In a confirming tone, I slowly respond, "Date. You want me to be your date."

Staring down at his feet, Josh mumbles, "Um, yeah. I mean, who wouldn't want the prettiest girl in town by their side?"

Thanks to my oh-so-good luck, as blush begins to rush to my cheeks, he looks up. I let out a breath and tell him, "I'd really like that."

His grin widens, and my own does the same. "Great! I'll, um, text you later?"

I nod, biting my bottom lip. He steps out and backwards, causing the screen door that was pushing against his back to slam into the doorframe. With one last wave, I shut the front door and happily return to the kitchen table. Upon seeing Macey standing behind Liz and three confused expressions, the smile drops from my face. I rush over Bex's side.

On the screen of the classified laptop, a video is pulled up. The paused image shows two figures sitting at a metal table, an interrogation-like scene. One bares a dead-on resemblance to a certain green-eyed smirking boy. The other male… someone we know all too well.

"Is that…"

Bex turns her head around, already knowing the name racing through my mind. She states, "Mr. Solomon's the one that admitted him into the hospital both times," then looks over to Macey. With her brows slightly furrowed, the flawless teen stares at me with piercing blue eyes.

"Zach's not a spy, Cam. He's an assassin."

**Dun-dun-dun. What type of trouble was our little Zach in that led to him being stabbed _and_ shot? How does he know Joe? If the CIA sent him to help out on the mission, is he really what they think he is, or is it all just an act to cover his hidden agenda? Let the know your theories and predictions, as well as comments and questions, in a review**!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Hey, guys! So, please answer the questions at the bottom of this page. It's just about the different paths you want this story to take and all. (:

**[Cammie]**

_A sharp point pokes at my side. I look down and inwardly curse at the sight of the six inch knife being pressed against my stomach. Continuing to steady my inhaling, I clench my hands into fists, preparing to fight._

_Calm down, Chameleon. _

_Mr. Solomon didn't teach you to run away. _

_Your mom didn't teach you to panic._

_Your dad didn't teach you to show your fear. _

_Fear is a weakness, and weaknesses get people killed. _

_Those nine words running through my head cause my breathing to become deeper and my chest to heavily rise and fall. The figure standing behind me tightens his left arm around my waist, fingers still wrapped around the weapon. His nails dig into my cheek as he pushes his right palm against my mouth with a stronger grip. _

_He jolts my head back and, in a gruff voice, mutters, "I thought a brat from Gallagher would be able to sense an intruder."_

_In the blink of an eye, he pulls his arms back and shoves me away. "I was wrong."_

_Coughing, I hit the island and quickly spin around. My heart feels like an anchor, but I ignore it, instead focusing on the guy holding a dagger out, a devious grin plastered on his face. His dark brown eyes hold a malicious gleam, making me shiver inside._

_While recalling every P&amp;E lesson that I can, I shoot my leg up and kick his wrist, making the knife fly to the side counter. Gaining more confidence, I stomp my heel down and spin, managing to collide my other bare foot with the male's chest. His body harshly crashes into the pantry door. Immediately, I run out of the kitchen and begin to bolt up the stairs. _

_A hand slaps around my ankle in a matter of seconds. My face hits the steps as I'm dragged down. Once I hit the floor, he spins me around. I try to shake out of the man's grasp, but his grip is too tight. I raise my right leg, but he notices and slams his foot down on my own, twisting it in a way that makes me yelp. Reaching up to the staircase railing with my left arm, I pull my upper half up and swing my fist with as much force as I can muster. The punch to his temple causes him to groan and stumble a bit. I use this moment to wiggle my lower body out from under him and kick his knees, making him fall to the ground. _

_Panting, I suddenly remember the emergency button that Dr. Fibbs installed when we moved in. My mom's soothing voice rings through my mind. _

"_Even the best fall down sometimes, kiddo. If you ever need help, press this, and we'll be there."_

_I bolt up and race back to the kitchen. Spotting the small red circle on the wall beside the fridge, I rush over and press it. As soon as my finger lifts off the button, something snakes around my throat from behind. What I recognize to be a hand tightens its clutch on my neck. While gasping for air, my body's slightly pushed back, hitting against something. Hitting against him. He moves his mouth towards my ear, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a smirk playing at his lips. _

"_How honored I am to assassinate a Morgan."_

"Cam?"

Snapping out of the vile memory, I utter, "He's a what?"

Bex squint her eyes, looking at me inquisitively. Feeling like a slide under a microscope, I glance down at my white socks. Lifting my head, I gaze at Liz, who stares back bewilderedly. She turns back to her laptop and says, "Um, I pulled up the security footage for the day that Zach was first admitted. Mr. Solomon was right beside his gurney while they were wheeling him in."

Standing beside me, Macey adds, "The second time, the hospital took a fingerprint of the man who checked him out, procedure and all. We matched it to Solomon's print in the Gallagher files."

Cracking her knuckles in the chair I'm leaning against, Bex jumps in, "There's no way that the CIA wouldn't know about Mr. Solomon's secret kid, right? So Lizzie went digging through a billion files-"

Our petite hacker holds up her finger and interrupts, "_Eight _files; five of which I don't have clearance to."

Bex rolls her eyes and continues, "And we found this. The agency noted it as some interrogation against Subject 2259, a.k.a. Zach, in September 2012, which was two months after he was shot. We only saw the first thirty seconds; we wanted to wait for you before we watched the rest."

A heavy sigh escapes my mouth. I nod and mumble, "Yeah, okay."

The girls give me questioning looks but decide not to press on it. Liz shifts back around and presses the spacebar on her laptop.

On the right side of the screen, Mr. Joe Solomon props his arms onto the metal table, intertwining his fingers together in the center. "September 3, 2012. 7:46 AM. George Bush Center for Intelligence in Langley, Virginia."

The light blue coating on the walls add to the apparent tension in the small room. At least when we were being questioned in that same building, they had the decency to put us in a court-like room, not one that was meant for… criminals. Then again, assassins fall into that category.

"Name?"

The familiar boy on the left leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "Zach."

"Your _full_ name."

His green eyes roll before he answers, "Zachary Goode."

"Age?"

"Fifteen."

"And do you know why you're here today?"

A smirk forms on his face, something I recognize all too well. "I'm an assassin."

Joe's expression remains intimidating and solemn, which I'm pretty sure just comes naturally to him. "This is serious, Goode."

Zach shrugs and responds, "Yeah, well, I'm seriously annoyed. You guys busted down my door before the sun was up. You dragged me out of my home just to stick me in here for another three hours."

The eyebrows of our CoveOps teacher pop up halfway through the young teen's rant. "Home? You call a vacant restaurant _home_? I'm assuming you consider your duffel bag full of rifles and an old sweatshirt as a pillow and blanket? Is that _home _to you, Zach?"

The younger male scoots his chair back a few inches, keeping his glare locked onto the man across from him. Joe sighs and softens his expression, an action that makes all of us gape.

"Zach, there are a lot of people in this building who've dedicated their time to taking down the Circle. They _will_ find Catherine, and when they do, they won't be lenient. If you just cooperate, I can make sure that they go easy on her."

To all of our surprises, Zach scoffs, "That woman doesn't give a damn about me."

Nothing comes out of the speakers; the two simply stare at each other. In a quiet voice, Liz asks, "What's the Circle?"

Macey adds, "Who the hell is Catherine?"

We remain quiet for what seems like forever, a million thoughts running through each of our brains.

"Why should I care about what happens to her?"

The snarky voice snaps us out of our confusion, focusing back on the screen. Joe slightly leans over the table, replying, "Most parents panic when their children fall and get a scrape on the knee. How ruthless your mother is, huh? Handing you a revolver on, what – your ninth birthday? And when were you taught to use a MAC-10? Twelve?"

_Mother?_

All amusement falls from Zach's face while he pushes his seat back, striking Joe to state, "You scooting your chair away from me proves that what I'm saying makes you feel uncomf-"

"_Don't._ Don't profile me and try to understand why I do what I do."

Cue the silence.

After seventeen seconds, Joe narrows his eyes. "I can't imagine a fifteen year-old being okay with roaming the streets at night, not being able to grasp onto something permanent without the fear of getting caught. Having to sit on a roof and shoot at people who actually have a chance. You spent your birthday in a hospital because you were _shot_. What do you get out of this, Zach? Why are you an assassin?"

Although the scene is slightly fuzzy, I see a flash of sadness cross the teenager's features. As quickly as it came, though, it disappears, being replaced with stone coldness. The words of his explanation just roll off his tongue, as if it's something he says every day.

"It's the only thing I'm good at."

The screen turns black, which I assume is signaling the end of the video, but Liz furrows her eyebrows. "No, no. There's more. It's supposed to be twenty-seven minutes long."

Suddenly, a sentence makes its way into the middle of the dark rectangle. _All Work, No Play._

The four words begin to rapidly appear on the screen, as if they're being written right now. The southern blonde widens her eyes and hunches over, flying her hands to the keys and harshly pushing them. "Oh my goodness. No. No, no, no. Someone's hacking into my system!"

Our eyes practically jump out of our heads. Frantically, I ask, "Can you stop them?"

"I'm not sure. It's supposed to be nearly impossible to pass my firewall."

Right as her mouth clothes, the letters stop appearing. Quickly, everything blacks out. In just two seconds, the usual computer screen returns, revealing many overlapping documents and CIA search engines.

Macey reaches across and hovers her long fingernail over a file icon on the bottom. "There, that's where we found the video."

Liz nods and double clicks the symbol. A small window pops up, confusing all of us.

_PRO-BOLT  
FILE 09312 -714496  
password:_

"He _encrypted_ it?!"

Gallagher's best tech whiz speedily types away, only to be rerouted to the same message. _ACCESS DENIED. _Turning red out of anger, she harshly leans back in her chair and slouches. Attempting to be comforting, I place a hand on her shoulder. "It can't be that bad, right, Liz?"

"Pro-Bolt's the number one password hack-resistant software there is. This is the program that _I_ customize and use for my own stuff. I'd have to get inside his head to figure it out. The only other way is insanely risky, and if something goes wrong, it'll erase all of my data."

"What do you need to crack it?"

In a defeated tone, Liz mutters, "The ability to clone myself and a year's supply of Adderall."

Macey trudges around the table, mumbling, "I'll go make some coffee."

* * *

The sunlight hitting my face drags me out of my sleep. I stifle a groan, instead rubbing my eyes to clear the exhaustion. Although it's been a few hours, yesterday still seems like a weight on my shoulders.

I'm the Chameleon. I should've blended in on the bus; he shouldn't have been able to notice my presence, much less talk to me. I should've demanded for answers, and I certainly should've noticed that something was off about him. Goodness, the sun just keeps getting brighter and brighter…

No. I close my curtains at night.

Immediately, all drowsiness disappears. In one quick movement, I pull an emergency weapon out from under my mattress and sit up, pointing it towards the figure standing by my drawers.

"I _will_ shoot you."

My voice sounds smooth and in control, but my hands are dancing a whole different style – slightly shaking at the feel of the gun. Fortunately, it's not completely real – just an invention by Dr. Fibbs. He tweaked the firearm so it shoots out minuscule spheres that electrically stun the target. This moment is too similar to a haunting memory, though.

I push my thoughts aside and stare ahead. The infiltrator looks about 5'8 or 5'9 and has broad shoulders, so it's probably a male. Wait a minute…

Slowly, he lifts his head, showing his face in the circular mirror above the dresser. _Green eyes._ Taking off the hood of his familiar _BI_ sweatshirt, he turns around.

"Good morning to you, too, Gallagher Girl."

I sigh and lower my arms, but my right hand remains wrapped around the Glock 26. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"That lock on your window is a joke," Zach says, pointing towards the square window between my desk and bed.

"Excuse me? Liz created our security system; it's intruder-resistant."

His smirk widens. _Oh, great._ Keeping his eyes trained on me, he reaches into a pocket of his jeans and pulls out a dice keychain. To the ignorant, it seems like a twenty-five cent souvenir. To the four girls in this house, my mom, Mr. Solomon, and apparently Zach, it's a laser that can open our outside locks.

Gee, I wonder which former CIA agent / current CoveOps teacher gave him that.

As he tucks the small blue cube away, I question, "What do you want?"

The irritating boy chuckles and replies, "No worries; I haven't touched anything. I just thought I'd pay you a visit. We hit it off yesterday, don't you think?"

"Right, because you're just my type. Cocky, secretive, and untrustworthy," I sarcastically scoff.

He laughs and rolls his sleeves up, sauntering around the room. "So, a Baby Glock? Come on, Gallagher Girl. I thought you'd have a little more leverage than that."

_Yeah, well, not everyone learns how to use a freaking machine pistol at twelve years-old._

I bite my bottom lip to keep the comment from slipping out. Luckily, Zach doesn't notice. Looking at the pictures on my walls, he states, "They say you're good."

"_They?_"

Snapping back to meet my curious gaze, he adds, "But they say I'm better," while heading towards the window. As he slides it up, I blurt out, "I just want the truth."

It seems out of the blue, but Zach catches on. Swinging a leg over the window sill, he remarks, "Then you're in the wrong business."

He holds up a finger, as if he forgot something, and I furrow my eyebrows. With that infuriating look in his eyes, he says, "By the way, Gallagher Girl... I like to take a girl on a date first, before she and her friends hack into CIA databases to dig through my past."

After shooting me one last smirk, the male sticks his other leg through the window frame and pushes off.

**Hmm. Wasn't sure about adding that Zammie scene in there, but I hope you liked it! If you don't mind, please answer the following questions in a review? (:**

1\. Should Macey's love interest be Nick or Preston? I'm kind of leaning towards Nick, since I'd make him a fellow spy and it'd be random to just include Preston, but I love MxP, too.

2\. Should the boys move next door to the girls, where Zach would have a window parallel to Cammie's? I think that idea's cute and all, but I'd hate to overuse it. If you guys decide against it, I'll still have the boys living somewhat close by.


End file.
